Under the Yoke
by Rapier09
Summary: The struggle of man
1. Chapter 1

Beyond the slacker

There seems to be a constant stream of people telling me what they want from me. I am happy to say I don't pay any attention to any of them. Dilbert is always paying attention to them. I had such hopes for him once, I wished he'd join me in my eternal fight against the forces that seek our attention.

I would say Alice doesn't get it. She is a chick, chicks never get it. I've said it to her face, a broken jaw along with my shattered collarbone was all I got. I could have persevered in the face of this but in the end there is a good chance she will take out the Pointy haired beast.

I will tell you something else, the Pointy haired one doesn't even remember any of our names or our projects. He comes over and drops a few words he overheard at some meeting. Yes, sometimes I do attend meetings.

The donuts, the coffee and I just like watching people who pay into this squirm about a performance review. I am not about to say I could have been promoted if I'd worked at it. Risen to the top on the backs of my slower co-workers…………..

A bit of extra money in the bank and a fancier title. In the end someone will look at that position and take it away. Companies need grunts, you have to be a special kind of cockroach to go far working in the departments.

Catbert, what did you ever want but slaves?

Pussy-whipped people hiding in their cubicles have no decency compared to him. He slacks off when he wants and when he works he is like a demon possessed.

Look at Dilbert, your eyes use them. He works all day and then he goes home and complains all night about it. His girlfriend disappeared from his life and he didn't even notice. His dog knows him and he keeps him on a tight leash. Wrapped around the paw of a canine……….how the mighty have fallen.

He brings good snacks though and sometimes he leaves them in the fridge or he forgets to pick something he cooked in the microwave. I owe him that much that I would clean up after him.

Alice calls me a thief, a parasite but she appreciates me in her own way. Asok does too but that boy needs to learn the value of hard-work. He spends too much time playing the young space cadet too understand that. Maybe another air duct spanking is in order?

If there is a god, he would have had me fired years ago. If there were aliens, they would have abducted me years ago. Instead hear I am, I can hear solitaire calling me. That and the flow of the floor. There is footsteps coming up my back….right behind me."Wally, I need a progress report on ………"

I forget about him and I look to the ceiling and I am so grateful that I am not him or you.


	2. Chapter 2

L'ombre sure le mure

I read this book, it's title is Apathy, it is about this lazy worthless slacker. Spends his whole time in the bathroom sleeping. Sounds so awkward, why put so much effort in it?

I stay in my cubicle, I don't worry about what anyone thinks of me. This company could have fired me years ago for any reasons. I would have thanked them by scratching every car in the parking lot. Not because I didn't want to be fired but because I wanted to show them I cared.

Maybe listen to termination bliss on the way home. If I don't end up coughing up my coffee on the way back.

How does my house look like?

It is actually fairly clean most of the time. I don't use it much. It is a bachelor's pad. I have never invited anyone from work there and I am not about to start. If they come in, they are not coming out. I am sorry but my secrets are my own.

And secrets they will stay.

See there are things that matter to me, getting coffee on a regular basis. Stealing toilet paper from the company and taking it home. I don't do it to save money, I just don't think Dilbert should be using toilet paper. I am sure other people use the bathroom but I don't care about them. I care about Dilbert, sometimes I even respond to him.

Alice would probably use it all the way anyway….the TP that is. It is a chick thing. The Pointy haired one either wears depends or probably just goes in his pants. You have to have a higher IQ then 50 to use the bathroom I read that somewhere.

As for that secretary up at the desk, I will tell you something to about her. She never gave up on the Pointy haired one. She could have put up with his inanity, his lack of focus or just his grossness in general. She never did though, she loved him so much that she reminds him everyday how incapable he'd be without her.

She has a nice stapler though and I'd steal it but I saw office space. I am not that guy plus this building was build using a hell of lot of asbestos. Catbert is HR and he can't do anything about it.

He once told me that yeah he did care about people and that part of his disgust with them was that they did such a piss poor job in taking care of themselves. He always seems to go on about personal grooming when I am around. A lot of what he does makes sense. He says he keeps me around because it is good to have at least one guy whose honest.

Am I honest?

I don't ever pretend to be anything I am not. Look at Dilbert, right now he is in the Pointy haired one's office trying to explain to him the benefit of switching one of his team members over to another group.

Guess who that is?

He would be doing himself a favor if he did. He will never admit the feelings he has for me. No perverts, not those kind of feelings. He'd rather push me away rather then admit we have anything in common.

It makes me sad sometimes but I keep living and I keep going on. One day he will understand maybe in as little as 14 days from now.

It is going to be time for a meeting in about 17 mins. I check my watch. Yes, I still have a watch. I just don't trust cellphones, they just break so easy like people really

It is time for the meeting, I sit down next to dilbert at his left always on his left.

The boss starts

"Well we've been having so me regrettable delays over one of our projects and I've been asked to shift the blame."

As if he ever knew how to shift anything

The pickle replies

"I am sure you're aware that some people haven't been contributing to the project."

I say

"Hey did you remember to send me that file last week, the really important one for that project? Because I still haven't received it so……….."

His hands close on my throat, his tie brushes my face and we hit the ground.

I want to laugh,scream or cry while

Alice

"We've had some issues with people hoarding vital information……….."My vision goes black, I smash Dilbert's ugly forehead with the cofee mug in my hand. It shatters all over my face.

That is ok, I borrowed it from Alice's cublicle on my way here, always a good reason to show up late for these meetings.

Today was a good day.


	3. Chapter 3

The Unicorn is in my head

To go to Starbucks, is to step into a different world. It is watching people pay for DeCaff Latte after DeCaff Latte. It is like they order that one interesting item and then they fall into a routine afterwards.

I believe coffee was invented when man decided to mix his own crap which comes from his butt with ocean water-that the French invented it is as a metaphor for this should tell you a lot. Now when I drink my coffee, I drink it from the coffee machine and using my mix.

Yes sometimes I feel that odd tingling in my hole that says other co-workers have drank my special brew but then hell I need to try it out on someone.

Back to Starbucks, the thing is if you want to get anywhere on the internet and I really really don't then you are better off using the office wireless then their wireless. I have never seen anyone get kicked out for looking at dirty pictures or god forbid fictionpress or some other hellhole website.

See my uninvited guests, the real Wally does give a damn what other people feel about him. It feels a lot better when you realize that there is nothing there but sometimes the sweet smell of that nothing thinking gets to you right in the morning.

Dilbert once tried to prove that God existed but I mean heck he lives with a bunch of dinosaurs so he might not be all that willing to go with creative expression or as I say intelligent design. Bear in mind that everyone I've ever known with God-like powers including the pointy haired manager was either insane or had the mind of a child.

Dilbert talks to me about his life every day it is like a manie of his. He reminds me why you never make friends at work-especially friends who call you lazy when they don't jack themselves. Even Alice admitted she had misgivings about working with "that guy", she was nodding and pointing in my general direction to let me know it was Tie-Fighter she was talking about.

I love the people who come into Starbucks, no jobs and no idea that in terms of net income that guy working behind the counter will probably earn more then they ever will in their lives.

You keep reading this crap wondering if it possible to destroy your sanity. I say you've obviously been reading the comic so that shouldn't be much of an issue. I mean no one ever gave me a magical stuffed tiger waiting to come to life.

I did get a box though but since it is basically an opening into the Abyss what the hell was I supposed to do with it.

I mean it is not like it is going to take me back in time maybe to some Ancient forgotten time when men decided to spike their hair using some evil incantations an then proceeded to lord it over the peons. No in case you're wondering I've never begged for my paycheck, I just threatened to firebomb the office and by god these stupid people paid me.

Technically it all sounds like some Engineer's cookbook to blowing everything Sky High. I am a Sociopath by nature as well as design, I don't have the motivation to blow everything up. You would look around you and see that none of these people know the right way to behave.

It is always about money it is never about understanding that if some idiot can make it somewhere in the Federal Bank you can make your own. No you have to live a life of scamming it out of everyone. As I explained to the Finance crackheads, my check may not be worth much but I would be failing you for letting you steal it.

Plus I dislike showing up for this insanity without getting paid. You look around though and you see a whole system of people who genuinely believe the key to getting rich is about ripping everyone else off. Absolutely no idea where money comes from, except that other people have it and they must take it.

It is motivation, ecstasy all at once. It never occurs to them that it represents value in a world increasingly devoid of it. Eventually you realize that your goals will not be met and that scrounging for a few dollars to buy happiness will not get you anywhere.

Catbert said what disgusted him the most about fossils was the way they'd keep chasing about money like it was going out of fashion. "Your goddamn leaders print that crap koolaid like it is going out of style and your smarter then they are?"

Was it ever worth it to rub his belly?

Sometimes you gotta realize that what humans pay for comfort, companionship well Cats receive their very own prostitutes for free. It is like I hate hookers anyway, hell that Dilbert probably doesn't understand that his Boss only keeps him around for his looks.

It is like the God of Wrath asking man to return to him. No guy, man's got his Golden Calf and you're never going to melt this mother down. Prove that he exist, no I can see all around me that he is less then happy but what the hell am I supposed to do.

I understand Dilbert is an Abomination so god help me so does his Dog and the Security Guard.

There was some word though that gives me hope and that is "Carcasonn". See in the old days it was considered an abomination for men to sleep with men as they would women. Old days being like 50 years ago. Back then engineers were respected and held high wages no time for Hanky Panky in the men's bathrooms.

Although looking at these 50s movies I swear to god all of them must have had some sort of Brokeback mountain moment.

The old saying was that if a man becomes a creature of scales like a fish then you should live in their Carcass like an abomination. I am not implying that I am going to stick a toilet plunger in Dilbert's behind or a wench or anything else really so he can be a son to me.

No no the whole "Carcassonn" was about living in the person, taking control through every inch and every movement. It is like stalking Milton from Office Space and yes I did mention fire but I swear to the Mani I am not that man.

You say Wally is this sicko who cries as the world burns. The world is everything but the ashes that constitute the human race. You could no more start a fire in this then you could anything else. Humanity doesn't have the same energy that caused the Shoah and that is where the Prince of Heck comes into play. Phil never liked the fact that man got away with stealing Staples.

I mean hell here I am talking about the lost city of buggers when I could be celebrating the beginning of the end but I say there is still hope in that place.

Hell every lost bit of office furniture that is stolen and resold is a personal affront to him. Hitler was obviously a notorious office hack. He looked and acted just like Dilbert. Proving to me that if there was Hope,it is the monster in the other cubicle that is killing it.

Hence even if Catbert has kittens and I know he plans to euthanize everyone of them, he would still be less pregnant with death then this demon with the crooked tie.

Hell I need an excuse not to do anything today and just to sit at Starbucks with my Cellphone in my car with the crappy artsy music blazing on.

Sometimes life is like Apathy and sometimes it is like Postal. Odin as my witness I will save Dilbert.


	4. Chapter 4

One Knight in a cubicle of horrors

You always have to worry about fads, they are always the same things but they come and go anyway. Anything that involves the way some guys lived in a semi-organized society in Europe, a long time ago: should be given a closer look.

Occidant,the OC country, to a lot of people seems to be about making others eat their own feces. Since you assume that is what they did in the Middle Ages anyway...actually they were called Buggers and heretics and it wouldn't be that unusual for a cult to involve having its members eat bodily fluids .I mean Voodoo, the Catholic church and the AAA...you look at their history and you could see very large parallels with this kind of idiomy.

Fads come and they go, it is always about people's involvement with something that can stick to a wall if thrown by a rather smart monkey. Now you assume that if someone wants to make you eat crap to control you, that person doesn't eat it or at least in small amounts.

Greed which is also a big part of Fads comes into play at that point, there is a "key" to getting over that ugly bump- that says you got "fooled" too. Occidant if written in a correct well structured sense. Instead of some voodo charade, seems to be about people no longer having such a disproportionate amount of poop in their body.

However it is not written Okey=doke either, it is not Greek and it didn't lead to the rise in coke. The dant at the end...well most men don't under=stand what that means anyway. Beyond the idea that it is a chick thing, Carol would actually disagree about that...plenty of chicks don't get it either.

The concept is easy,for whatever reason, you play with bodily fluids and the normal process is you start your own baby-making equipment up to make fluids and you eat them. Which by the way I have never used to make babies thankfully, unlike that attention...seeker down the hall.

Except now when you have people looking at you, you start thinking people look kinda queer. Which has always been how I felt about anyone and everyone anyway. Then you start your solid waste disposal equipment up and you decide to take swallow some of that waste byproduct...believe it or not most people eventually get to that point.

The problem is you sink deeper and deeper. Most women and pretty much all men would not go down that gravel road (Parrotbert would be a nice name), there is no Dant in their soul. Easiest way to walk out of dodge out of this cubicle made up of crap, is simply to feel a vibration from hopefully a woman's thighs across your butt. The secretions if taken like pills, the ones that come from your inner thighs not your genitalia, that come from "that" will eventually cause it to start "hailing". And you are essentially sctott's free.

You look at say Raymond though and he is always got this awfully strange look about him, as if there is really is something wrong with him. What people usually do when they realize or believe their alone wallowing with a packet of regurgitated waste that thankfully keeps them from fitting into this society of loonies...well Carol never did snort coke nor did her Boss. Who really wasn't quite that dumb to do that.

Smearing the fluids from your baby making equipment across your nose and then doing some form of osmotic inhalation. People don't get better much from doing that, they get a lot worse and a lot meaner. Basically society doesn't have a place for them...because they did what a whole lot of people did. Yet decided they didn't want to be anyone's fool, well over to them with my message... when that "coke" hit your nose you could have fooled anyone but yourself about getting any better.

I have never done it because one it sounds like something crackhead, salesmen and politicians and honestly... liars would do.

Don't do coke and don't do any stupid ideas and if your going to follow some kind of fad, don't get one that involves some "Gre-ek" searching for your soul.

In Provence , up where that Occidant idea came from. They always had a way to refer to poetry, or writing of such sort, it is like technical writtings like making a code- they called it the "Gay science". It never implied homosexuality just the kind of mindset you had to be in. Now thanks to computers, I too can write in the "Gay science".

To quote Nietszche:

"_written for the most part in Sicily, are quite emphatically reminiscent of the Provençal concept of_ gaia scienza—_that unity of_ singer_,_ knight_, and_ free spirit _which distinguishes the wonderful early culture of the Provençals from all equivocal cultures. The very last poem above all, "To the Mistral", an exuberant dancing song in which, if I may say so, one dances right over morality, is a perfect Provençalism._ "

Nothing about doing coke, nothing about eating one's crap.

Dedicated to Carol ...and the man who stole her heart and her lunch.


End file.
